


Back to Baker Street

by Tindomerelhloni



Series: What It's Like To Date Sherlock Holmes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 15:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8584123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tindomerelhloni/pseuds/Tindomerelhloni
Summary: John goes back to Baker Street after life with Mary comes to an end. 
(No smut, but I'm giving it a teen an up warning.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> So... this is a writing "exercise" 
> 
> I have no real writing "training." I was home schooled, and through a series of unfortunate events (Mother had cancer to start with) I honestly never finished school I graduated with a GED that SOMEHOW I managed to get... and have no further schooling.
> 
> I've found that I absolutely LOVE writing but sometimes I just don't know WHAT to write. So a friend suggested I use one of those prompt generators, and I found three quotes that sparked my interest. 
> 
> The quote for this fic will be “I don’t think I could live alone again.”
> 
> As of right now, this will be a 3 part series. I may add more in the future, but for now this is something I'll work on when I'm blocked on my other fics. I also plan on going back and re working ALL of my fics... deleting the ones I don't think will be going anywhere, and perhaps even trying to re write them. 
> 
> This first one has NO smut. Just a bit of fluff, that possibly could have been thought out better. But its a start for getting over writers block, I guess!

John looked down into the dark ground as the casket holding his wife was lowered into the frozen earth. When the casket hit hard earth, the cold winter drizzle, that had plagued them relentlessly for the last 24 hours, turned into a light snow and John gave a slight snort. Funny how the weather seemed to mirror his mood today. With a steady hand he placed a single rose at the foot of the headstone and read the words that were etched into the hard stone:

 

**_“Mary Watson. Beloved Wife and Mother to be.”_ **

And just below that, in a slightly smaller font:

**_“Isabell Watson. Innocent to the end.”_ **

 

It had been Sherlock’s idea, to include Isabell on the gravestone. One last lie to cover up Mary’s web of lies. It would be easier for JOhn to say that Isabell had died in the same car crash that killed her mother, than to explain to people that she had never existed in the first place. (The car crash also being made up.) Than the honest and brutal truth that John’s daughter had been a story made up by a desperate Mary in order to ensure that John stay with her. 

Someone placed a hand between John’s shoulder blades. It was warm and welcome against the cold winter morning and he leaned into it. Expecting it to be Mrs. Hudson he blinked in surprised when he turned and saw that the hand belonged to Sherlock. 

“You’re welcome back at Baker Street. Any time. For however long.” Sherlock’s deep voice rumbled softly over him and for the briefest of moments his gloved fingers stroked along John’s back before pulling away.

“Mmm Ta.” John nodded and watched as Sherlock stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. “I don’t think I could live alone again.” Sherlock nodded, and just like that it was settled. John would move back to Baker Street and take up his old room. 

John stayed for the remainder of the funeral, accepting well wishes and condolences from people he couldn’t remember ever meeting before. He took it all in stride, plastering a sad expression on his face knowing that if he were to show the relief he was actually feeling, it would not be well received.  _ “Not good? Bit not good.”  _ Sherlock stayed by his side, leaning in and whispering a name whenever he could tell that John didn’t know. When the last person had finally left, and it was just Mycroft, Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson and himself, John squared his shoulders, gave the grave one last look and walked away. 

It took them less than 24 hours to fall back into routine of living together. Though it was widely thought that John made the tea, Sherlock was the one who actually made it. (Always on the look out to poison John, of course.)  The morning after the funeral, John woke to a still steaming mug on his nightstand, and resting beside that - the morning paper. He smiled, shrugged into his dressing gown and gathered up both the paper and tea and made his way down the stairs. A pajama clad Sherlock looked up from where he was slumped on the sofa and instantly sat bolt upright when John nudged his feet, asking to sit. 

“Listen, Sherlock. I appreciate…  _ this _ ,” he held up the paper and nodded towards his room. “But I don’t need any special treatment. I’m not grieving, I don’t need time to be alone. So, let's just go back to how things were, before you left. Yeah?”

Sherlock gave a slight nod, then launched himself across the sofa, spilling part of John’s tea as he tackled the doctor into the cushions. “Are you certain that is what you want, John?” With every word Sherlock’s lips brushed against John’s and it was all John could do to nod.

“Had I not been forced to leave,  _ this _ is how things would have been. Do you disagree?” Sherlock rubbed his lips over John’s and nuzzled their noses together and spoke in a low whisper, “So, John, I'll ask again. Are you sure you want to go back?”

John swallowed hard and closed his eyes. Before that fateful day at St. Bart’s, he and Sherlock had indeed been tiptoeing around their mutual infatuation. It was no secret, however unspoken it had gone, that the long looks, unnecessary touches, and borderline codependency meant there was much more than simply  _ friendship _ between the two men. It had been so obvious that even John couldn’t turn a blind eye towards it.

“Ye-yeah.” John cleared his throat and licked his lips then blinked in surprise as his tongue brushed against Sherlock’s lips. “Yeah, I… want this. Want this… I want  _ you. _ God, yes.” John groaned into Sherlock’s mouth, with fingers burrowing into Sherlock’s hair and needy gasps he leaned forward and closed the minute gap between their lips. 

“Jjjjoooohhhhnnn…” Sherlock’s groan was like a prayer and it washed over John like a breath of fresh of air but he couldn’t find it within himself to pull away and answer. Instead he poured out his heart, mind, and soul into the kiss, letting one hand slip under Sherlock’s soft grey t-shirt while the other fisted in Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock ground louder as John's fingers massaged his scalp. At the noise John gently pushed Sherlock up and grinned at him. 

“Sensitive, mmm?” He grinned again as he scraped his nails over Sherlock’s head and laughed gently as Sherlock purred. “Where else are you sensitive I wonder….” John mused out loud as he placed a series of soft kisses to Sherlock's face. 

“I'm not sure..” came Sherlock whispered reply and he attempted hid his blush by burying his face in John's shirt. 

“Not sure?” John stroked his hands down the length of Sherlock's back as he contemplated Sherlock's answer. After a moment he let out a soft breathy “ohhh..” and his hands froze as understanding washed over him.

“Sherlock, have you ever been kissed before? By someone other than family?” 

“Ummmm… no.” Sherlock’s confession was soft and slightly muffled due to the detective's face being pressed hard against John's chest. 

“Oh, Sherlock.” John sighed and kissed the top of his curly head. “We’ll take this slow. Okay? You just let me know when you're ready for… well… uh…”

“Intercourse?”

“Well put, luv. But yeah.. sex.” John chuckled and felt Sherlock's back shake with silent laughter. 

“For now, John, this is nice.”

“Yeah ‘s very nice.” John kissed Sherlock once again the tapped his shoulder. “Now let me up. My tea is getting cold.”

“Uh…” Sherlock sat up, guilt written over his face, and couldn't quite meet John's eyes. “Now that we’ve ummm. Kissed. I feel obligated to tell you… well. Don't drink the tea.

“Sherlock….” John sighed and sat upright as the taller man shuffled back. “What did you put in it?”

“4 milligrams of Cialis.” Sherlock admitted and tried to soften the blow with a kiss.

“Viagra? Jesus… why?”

“I had hopped, that if you were horny… you'd be more apt to kiss me.” Sherlock blushed and stared at the tea. “Turns out, I just had to be honest.”

“Git” John laughed, gently swatting Sherlock's arm with a pillow as he stood. “I’ll make the tea from now on, alright?”


End file.
